


Any Minute Now

by veiledndarkness



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t want to see the clock, to know that it only took Merle mere minutes to reduce him to a shuddering mess, and if there was enough light, he’d have to see the smug look on Merle’s face. Written for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Minute Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: _When Daryl's driving Merle's drunkass home sometimes, late night on country roads, Merle can't help reaching his hand over, groping his brother and grinning while Daryl tries not to crash._

There’s a part of him that hates how dark the roads are when he’s carting Merle home from some dirt bar. The roads that curve and twist into areas where no one bothers with putting too many lights along, the ones he’s long since memorized since driving Merle home is as routine to him as breathing. 

 

And as routine as it is, he knows that it won’t be long before Merle starts feeling frisky, not too long before he shifts over on the battered seats of their pickup, his rough hands reaching and petting and even if he tells Merle no, it’s not like Merle’s gonna listen to him. 

He knows that Merle will reach for the fly on his jeans, that those fingers of his can be so nimble even when he’s three sheets to the wind, and before he can blink, he’ll feel Merle’s fingers, those rough, calloused fingers, wrap around his cock and coax him into a straining hardness that makes his cheeks burn with the knowledge of it. 

And he knows that Merle will smirk and grin and croon along with the music that’s murmuring out of the radio in places where the signal still reaches, his fingers stroking and _tugging_ until there’s drips of arousal slicking Merle’s hand and he knows that he’ll be biting at his lips, struggling to stay silent, struggling to watch the dark road before his eyes even when there’s shocks of pleasure rocketing up his spine. 

Merle loves to watch him squirm and fight it, he can’t help fighting it, and God, how Merle laughs when he hears the stuttered intakes of breath beside him, and he can’t hide the way his lips thin as he strains in his seat, his sweat slicked fingers gripping the steering wheel for all it’s worth. 

He knows it won’t be long and when he catches the scent of whiskey drifting from his brother, he feels the lick of raw heat burn right up his back and he comes with a start, white hot sparks in front of his eyes, his come flowing over Merle’s greedy fingers as he swerves around the hairpin turn, narrowly getting them around the bend in one piece and he can hear Merle chuckling that filthy laugh of his all the while. 

And he’ll try not to shake after, his breath coming in short pants and he knows that Merle will slide his hand back out and lick his fingers, leaving him wet and exposed and maybe it’s not such a bad thing that there’s hardly a light along the road. He doesn’t want to see the clock, to know that it only took Merle mere minutes to reduce him to a shuddering mess, and if there was enough light, he’d have to see the smug look on Merle’s face. 

 

He glances at the clock as Merle shifts restlessly in his seat, whistling tunelessly while the radio crackles between them. It won’t be long now.


End file.
